


(i simply wished) for one more day with you

by someassemblingrequired



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someassemblingrequired/pseuds/someassemblingrequired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he morning after an awful fight, Gwen promises she’ll be home soon. She promises, he remembers. This is one promise she didn’t keep. Inspired by <a href="http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/37778197767/imagine-your-otp-in-an-argument-late-at-nigh-that">this post.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	(i simply wished) for one more day with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessu/gifts).



She’s not exactly sure how the argument started. One moment they were just sitting, just talking about something inane like they like to at night, and the next minute she’s on the other side of the room, and he’s got his hands on the back of the couch, and she’s crying, and he’s shouting, and she’s pretty sure that shattered vase a few feet from him is definitely on the floor less because of her aim and more because he’s damn good at ducking. And then she’s screaming, something about how he doesn’t care, how he’s  _never_  cared, and how if that’s how he feels, maybe he should just go back to Natasha, or that damn Greek bitch. 

“If that’s how you feel, why not just leave?! I get it, Matt. I’m not good enough for you, or for anyone else!”

He’s yelling too, something about how it would be better if he’d just never spoken to her on that first day, about how he never should have taken her back. He’s saying something about how she’s needy, how she can’t cope with real life. And she knows he doesn’t mean it, but he’s angry. And he knows he doesn’t mean it, he knows that he should shut up, but he’s just so angry (and he has absolutely no idea how this argument even started), so he keeps yelling.

“Maybe if you hadn’t slept with Harry, we wouldn’t even be in this fucking mess. Ever think of that, Gwen? Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking whore, we wouldn’t even be here right now!”

The words are vitriolic, acidic, caustic. They fall from his lips with the harshness of a bright light in a dark room. He’s angry, furious even, and he doesn’t mean it, but they’re said anyway. She freezes where she stands, and her face simply crumples. As soon as he’s said the words, he wants to take them back. Her shoulders drop, and though he can’t see her, he can practically hear the way her heart breaks. Her shadowy outline is shaking, and her quiet sobs echo in the otherwise silent room.

“Gwen…”

Before he can get another word out, she’s already moving, pushing past him so she can get to their room. He reaches for her wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around her arm, and she wrenches away from him like he’s burned her.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

There’s a loud crack in her voice, and he can smell the salt in the air from her tears. His fingers release her immediately, and she disappears into their room, the door slamming shut. As soon as it does, he hears the lock, and swears quietly. The anger has dissipated now, and he’s only filled with regret. He can hear her crying, how the sobs are muffled by the pillow, how her shoes have hit the wall. The springs creak as she falls onto the mattress, and she’s sobbing, and he can hear it as clearly as if she were right next to him.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

He moves to the front of the couch and sits down, turning his blind eyes to the tv they had been watching (well,  _she_  had been watching, he had been listening) only a little while earlier. He couldn’t even remember what their argument was about. He had no idea how it had started. 

Shit. 

What was he thinking? How could he have said that? Was he an idiot? There had to be something wrong with him. He had forgiven all of what had happened in college so many years ago that it barely mattered anymore. They had been together, without incident, for almost five years. It had been years since the… affair with Harry had been mentioned as anything more than a passing joke. 

She had to know he didn’t think of her that way. She had to realize that he knew she dedicated herself to him, knew that she loved him and only him. She had to know that he knew she loved him, right? He let out a howl of sadness, grabbing the nearest cushion and burying his face in it. It took minutes before he stood up and rushed to the door, trying the handle and finding it locked. He rested his head against the wood.

“Gwen. Sweets, please let me in.  _Please_ , let me in.”

The only response was sobbing.

* * *

 It took him almost two hours before he could finally jiggle the lock on their door enough to open it. She hadn’t let him in. He’d pounded on the door, pleaded with her. But she hadn’t said anything, had simply cried. And after a while, he hadn’t even heard that. 

He’s got this plan. He fully intends to apologize over and over, to kiss her shoulders, her face, to brush away all her tears, and to tell her over and over how sorry he is, how much he loves her, how he knows he fucked up saying that. He’s one hundred percent ready to lay out his heart in a way he never,  _ever_  does. He’s ready to say “I love you” a thousand times if it just means she’ll forgive him. He’s ready to do all of that, and more. To beg for her forgiveness on bended knee. He knows he’d do anything just for her to stop crying.

He hates it when she cries.

But he doesn’t get the chance. When he finally gets the door open, and starts to say her name, he stops before he finishes the third letter. She’s wearing one of his shirts, curled up in their bed, fast asleep. Her hair is mussed and she’s sleeping fitfully, but he knows she’s asleep. Her cheeks are still shiny from tear tracks and he swears quietly. 

He pads over to the bed and pulls off his shirt, switching his jeans for sweatpants, before climbing into bed beside her. She’s asleep and he can’t bring himself to wake her up. She looks like an angel when she’s asleep, and he loves her more and more every time he sees her like this; vulnerable, not sassy or too invested in her projects. She’s at her simplest when she’s asleep, and though he loves her wit and her conversation, he also just loves hearing her breathe.

Turning so he’s facing her, he gently (so gently, because he doesn’t want to wake her up) tugs her into his arms. Her head falls into its natural place against his chest, and her arms unconsciously drift back across his torso like they normally do. He holds her tighter than normal, burying his face in her hair and whispering against her scalp a million times, “I’m sorry, sweets. I’m sorry. i love you, Gwen. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Whispers it over and over until his voice cracks and his own tears drip into her hair. She nuzzles closer against him and he exhales, kissing her head and holding her as if she was his anchor to reality.

Because, if he’s being honest, he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves Gwen Stacy, and if he loses her, he’s not sure he can go on. He’s lost so much in his life.

He doesn’t think he could survive without her.

His arms don’t release their hold on her until he falls asleep. And even then, when she shifts, his body instinctively moves closer to her. It’s as though he feels that, if she disappears for even a second, he’ll lose her forever.

* * *

 Her side of the bed is empty when he wakes up, and for a moment, he’s pretty sure his heart stops. But then he realizes her hand is on his shoulder, and she’s leaning near to him and whispering quietly in his ear. It’s plain that she didn’t want to wake him, but she can’t very leave notes for the blind man.

“I have to run a few errands,” she whispers quietly, her lips brushing his cheek. “I want to stay in bed with you all day. If it means we can make up. But I need to go get groceries, and drop off a few things at the lab. It shouldn’t take me more than two hours. And then I’ll be back, so don’t leave this bed, okay?”

His lips curve into a smile as she kisses him. He wants to pull her back into bed immediately, he wants to tell her not to go. Errands can wait, the  _lab_  can wait. Everything can wait. But he just kisses her, and mumbles quietly, “Hurry back.” 

As she’s walking out the door, he calls after her. “I love you, Gwen.” He hears that familiar laugh. “I love you too, Matty.” And then the door closes, and he shuts his eyes and rolls over. Her half of the bed smells faintly fruity. There’s a trace of salt in the air from the tears that she soaked her pillows with last night, but he’ll make sure to clean that up later. For now, he just wants to go back to sleep.

Maybe he can dream of what they’ll do when she gets home. 

With a smile on his lips, and promises of things to come on his mind, he finds himself falling asleep more easily than normal. He doesn’t have work today anyway, it’s Sunday, and the world doesn’t need Daredevil when they have Spiderman and everyone else out protecting the streets, right?

Right.

* * *

 He wakes up properly around eleven, and he figures it can’t have been more than a few hours since Gwen left. He pushes himself out of bed to go make himself a coffee, and frowns when he realizes its closer to twelve now that he’s finished it. But it’s no matter. He knows she’ll be back soon.

StarkTech in hand, he heads back to the bedroom, to the bed, to listen to the newest book she’d downloaded for him. He shuts his eyes and leans against the headboard, listening to the melodic voice reading the story to him. It’s an interesting one, about a boy with special powers who helps his divorced parents find happiness once again. It takes the better part of the afternoon before he finds a good stopping point in the recording and pauses somewhere after chapter 12. 

The phone is ringing, but he’s too comfortable to get up. By the time he deigns to move, he’s missed the call, and their answering machine is a piece of shit anyway. If it’s important, he knows whoever it is will call back. But the clock chimes seven times and he frowns.

A few hours is one thing, but ten is something else. His fingers grasp around his bedside table for his phone and he holds down the center button, waiting for Siri to chime in.

“Call Gwen Stacy.”

It rings, and rings, and rings, almost endlessly, but after 30 seconds, it goes to her voicemail. He tries again ten minutes later. And again five minutes after that. And after the fourth call, forty minutes after the first, he’s starting to get a little bit frantic.

Because its almost 8 in the evening, and she’s always home by now. But it’s fine, he convinces himself. Sometimes —frequently, he thinks with a small, fond smile — she gets caught up at the lab. She’ll be home soon, he’s sure of it. 

It’s half past eight when he hears someone knocking on the door. He frowns, because Gwen has her own key (it’s  _their_ apartment, for gods sake) and most of their friends enjoy coming in through windows, and all of them usually call ahead. He tugs absentmindedly at his shirt, that smells faintly of her, as he ventures from the bedroom to the front door.

As soon as he opens it, dread fills his veins. There are two men, and they stand like police officers. He’s spent a lot of time around police offices. But this time, he can’t fathom a single reason for them to be here.

“Mr. Murdock?”

The one of the left is speaking to him softly, carefully. Matt nods, his voice caught in his throat. His only thought is that this cannot be good, whatever it is. Maybe a supervillian attacked Gwen’s lab? Maybe she’s in a hostage situation? He can get her out, if she is. It’ll be okay.

“Can we come in?”

Again, he nods, and moves back to allow the two men into the apartment. He remembers when they moved into this apartment, just two years ago, after they both graduated. She was working for SHIELD and he was in his second year of law school, and it wasn’t the best place, but the moment Gwen saw it, she fell in love with it. And he fell in love with it right along side her. 

“You might want to sit down.”

He shuts the door and briefly considers asking if they want drinks. But they’re already sitting down and he knows he should too. There’s something very, very wrong here. He moves to the couch and sits, fixing the shadowy figures with a blind gaze.

“What’s going on?”

He wants Gwen to come home. She’s better with police than he is. After all, she’s the daughter of the best Police Commissioner New York had had for forty years. He hears one officer take a shaky breathe.

“You are Gwen Stacy’s fiancé, are you not?”

“For six months. Yeah. Why?”

His voice is as firm as he can make it, but there’s still a shake to it. Because it’s eight thirty five now, and Gwen still isn’t home, and it’s been almost twelve hours since he kissed her and almost tried to get her to stay. 

“At approximately ten twenty seven this morning, Ms. Stacy was crossing East 32nd Street. It appears she was heading to her place of employment, which, as I’m sure you know, is just down East 32nd.”

His blood is running cold.

“At ten twenty eight, a Mr. Ishta Smythe allegedly lost control of his vehicle. I’m… I’m sorry, but Mr. Smythe’s vehicle struck Ms. Stacy as she was crossing the street. Paramedics arrived, but… Mr. Murdock, I’m incredibly sorry. Your fiancée was pronounced dead at the scene. I am so, so sorry.”

He can’t breathe.

This cannot be happening. They have to be lying. He’s certain they’re lying. And he’s telling them so. “No, you’re wrong. She said she’d be home soon. She told me this morning. She said she was just running a few errands, and that she’d be home soon.” He’s shaking his head, frantically, trying to convince the police officers that they are wrong, and he is right, and any second now, Gwen is going to walk through the door and they’re going to have her favorite coffee and watch his favorite show, and then they’re going to cuddle in bed and he’s going to kiss her until her lips are soft and swollen. 

“The NYPD extends their deepest condolences, Mr. Murdock. Her mother identified her body at around three this afternoon. We were directed by her to inform you. We called, but there was no answer. The department sent us over. Mr. Murdock, we are so sorry.”

He still can’t breathe. His face is in his hands (when did that happen?) and he’s taking deep, steadying breaths. One of the officers puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s alright to cry, son.”

And he does.

He falls apart for the first time in a long time. His body shakes, not unlike how it did when his father died. He hears another knock at the door, and it opens, and he can tell in an instant that it’s Peter and Kieran, Gwen’s youngest brother. Kieran is by his side in an instant (Matt had always liked her youngest brother the best, since he never got to know Michael, who was killed when he and Gwen were broken up during her freshman year) and Matt can smell the salty tears that are welling in Kierans eyes.

From a distant, he can hear Peter telling the officers thank you, but they can go. He is Gwen and Matt’s best friend, and this is her little brother, and they’re here to take Matt to be with the rest of her family. 

That just about breaks him, and he reaches for Peter’s hand.

“She’s really gone?”

He can feel Kieran nodding next to him, but he needs to hear it said out loud. He hear’s Peter taking a steadying breath.

“I’m sorry, Matt. She’s really gone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about 3 months ago and apparently never got around to posting it on my AO3. Yet another in my painful saga of hurting my two favorite Marvel characters. Much love.


End file.
